I hate the sunburn I get on the first warm day of spring. In the daylight, I can’t think straight. The room goes a bit cold when the sun sets- dirty socks and my legs up on the wall. Catching moments like bugs to keep in my collection of Things to look at and set free before they die. I don’t know who told me to do this.
Fireworks in July and stupid smiles that move through me like a good song. The heavy breathing of sleep, school bus style daydreams, then telling a joke on purpose. A candid silence, realizing that maybe I am a shitty driver when my leg is up on the seat. Hot sticky skin, but I love the balcony, the taste of cereal and dried strawberries in a paper cup, and I’d never leave without a way to come back to that view.
Writing poetry criss-crossed on a mattress without a bed frame. My clothes start to match the weather, and the wind makes my eyes water. I regret buying so much satin. Skipping stairs and listening to Gwen Stefani- I’m so cool when I walk to the grocery store. I’m a dramatic little brat, so I don’t throw flowers away when they die or change the water in the vase.
Distinctly winter love, brewing tea from rosy cheeks, we’re so cold. Chapstick under lipgloss, and I forget to check my tarot cards. The upkeep in the cold is less demanding- emotion, distance, time. Floors swept less and less, but things don’t fall apart. Copy cat with my chin on my knees, ruminating about the wait.
PLUTO BLOOMING 